


Welcome Home

by kaibasetos



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 10:45:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6002914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaibasetos/pseuds/kaibasetos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I always hated coming home, until home was you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome Home

**Author's Note:**

> [[Valentine's Day Fic Bash 2016](http://kaibacorpking.tumblr.com/private/139289273480/tumblr_o2jex0gLDG1uy32l2)]
> 
> Because it was highly requested and because I can't get enough of these three... More Petshipping! For the most part this is decidedly more light-hearted and "fluffy" than most things I write, but I had an absolute blast writing it and I hope everyone enjoys it!

Kaiba settles back against the seat of the jet with a sigh. He can’t seem to even attempt to relax. Business trips always leave him with that lingering sort of anxious tension, the sort he can’t force out of his wired shoulders, the sort that sits in his throat and won’t allow him to swallow properly. His eyes are heavy, his back is taut, and his wrists are sore. Outside his window, the sun is setting, painting the sky they’re flying through in a smear of colors. He would find it beautiful if it didn’t mean night would be blanketing the manor at the time of his landing.

The manor. The place he should call home, but can’t. The word sits strangely on his tongue when he attempts it. It needs a heart to be deserving of the name, he thinks. Instead, all it has are ugly, tainted memories. It’s a hollow building full of rooms that are devoid of anything that could give them meaning save for the lingering fingerprints of his father, the depthless shadows of his contempt. It could never be home to him. The thought of returning to it seems to draw the muscles in his shoulder blades tighter, ache his ribs.

He lets his head fall against the headrest and tries to chase sleep. It comes to him in uneasy, dizzying fits and bursts, just as it has all weekend.

He misses the companionship of his partners in his bed.

When the jet touches down, he thinks of them on the drive home. The roads are deserted near midnight. His hands grip the steering wheel too tightly. He thinks of them, his eyes flicking to where his phone rests blank and dark in the center console, and wonders idly why one of them hasn’t called. It’s unlike them. He wants their voices in his ears again, and he’s exhausted enough to let himself want that, to let himself be selfish and needy.

His phone brightens and chimes as he pulls up to the manor. It’s a text from Mokuba.

_I’m staying late at Kaiba Corp tonight. Don’t worry about it. Welcome back, big brother!_

He feels a rush of sentimentality at the words, but it’s followed by a tainted sense of dread as he glances out of his windshield at the ominous, looming silhouette of the manor. It’s even worse when desolate, too large, too easy to let himself be lost in. It beckons him with endless corridors lined with thoughts he doesn’t care to revisit, emotions he doesn’t care to reawaken.

He doesn’t think anything of the lights being on when he makes his way to the door, briefcase in hand. The staff are in and out often enough that it’s certainly not an oddity. He does, however, become suspicious when his hand rests on the doorknob and he can hear a faint commotion from inside: talking, laughter, a racket from the television that sounds too familiar. Perhaps his phone had alerted him to the text message from his brother too late.

When he pushes the door open and steps into the foyer, he casts his eyes towards the living room. Jounouchi is sitting on his couch, playing a video game that seems to involve far too much violence for Kaiba’s taste. The volume is up loud enough that Jounouchi is deaf to his entrance, even when he closes the door behind him with a snap. He walks closer, hesitates, clears his throat.

“Jounouchi?”

Jounouchi jerks in surprise at the sound of his voice, pausing his game and whipping around too quickly, a grin on his face.

“You’re back!”

Jounouchi bounds off of the couch and is upon him in far too few steps, his hands tangled up in Kaiba’s hair, his mouth pressed against Kaiba’s in the most vibrant, enthusiastic sort of kiss. Kaiba instantly lets go of his briefcase, careless of how it clatters to the floor as he wraps his arms around Jounouchi’s waist and pulls him in, holds him close. It’s comforting, the weight and warmth of him, and thrilling the way Jounouchi laughs happily against him and kisses him again and again.

Kaiba is exhausted enough to let himself want that, too.

Jounouchi’s eyes and smile are bright when he pulls back, his voice so kind it beckons that same surge of sentimentality back to Kaiba’s chest. “We’ve been waitin’ for you.”

“We?” Kaiba asks, brow furrowing. He feels Otogi’s lips brush against the collar of his shirt before he even registers the presence of Otogi behind him. An uninvited shiver races down his spine.

“Of course,” Otogi murmurs with a smile in his voice, kissing Kaiba’s neck and curling his arms around Kaiba’s waist to press up against his back. “You didn’t think I’d let Jounouchi have all the fun of seeing you on your first night back, did you?”

Kaiba lets his eyes fall closed, taking what feels like the first deep breath he’s been able to capture since his jet lifted from the strip three days ago. He leans into Otogi, tilting his head to welcome the soft kisses that Otogi continues to press to his throat, and draws Jounouchi so close they’re flush against one another. Jounouchi exhales like he’s been waiting for this just as anxiously and just as long, burying his face in Kaiba’s chest.

Finally, Kaiba starts to relax, the tight pressure in him easing and drifting away.

“I didn’t think I’d be seeing either of you tonight,” he murmurs. He doesn’t say _I’m so thankful that I am_ , but he thinks both of them can hear it anyway. They always seem to function on that wavelength with him.

“We missed you,” Otogi says gently, bestowing a meaningful kiss to Kaiba’s shoulder, and those three simple words are more precious to Kaiba than he can express. He can’t even try. He lets them settle in his bloodstream instead, something like a drug, lifting him up and making him feel alive again.

“So much,” Jounouchi adds, and Kaiba opens his eyes to look down at him. He raises a hand to run it through Jounouchi’s hair as though on instinct, autopilot, and almost smiles when Jounouchi leans eagerly into the touch and curls his fingers against the nape of Kaiba’s neck. “Besides, you gave us spare keys to the place. I gotta take advantage of your giant fuckin’ T.V. while I can.”

Kaiba rolls his eyes. “I see. So high definition gaming is the _real_ reason you’re here at one in the morning.”

Jounouchi butts his head playfully into Kaiba’s chest, looking up at him. “It was a joke, you asshole.”

“I’m aware,” Kaiba dismisses. “Were you not alerted to the fact that I possess a sense of humor as well?”

“No way,” Otogi says in a mockery of surprise. “Who are you and what have you done with our Kaiba?”

 _Our_. The word implies a sense of ownership, possessiveness, and Kaiba finds himself drawn to it, allowing it to repeat as a mantra in his head. Our. He’s theirs. They were waiting for him. He bites his tongue, instinctively clenching his fingers in Jounouchi’s hair. Something in Jounouchi’s gaze changes to reflect concern. He lets go immediately.

“You okay?” Jounouchi asks him.

Kaiba clears his throat. “Fine,” he replies, and Jounouchi raises his eyebrows.

“He’s just tired. Business trips _suck_ ,” Otogi contributes rather eloquently, and Kaiba snorts. “I know something that will probably cheer you up, Kaiba. I made you dinner.”

“ _We_ made you dinner,” Jounouchi interrupts, and Kaiba can feel him prod Otogi in the shoulder. “I helped.”

“He helped by making a mess of everything,” Otogi whispers conspiratorially into Kaiba’s ear.

“I can fuckin’ hear you, douchebag,” Jounouchi says loudly. “I’m kinda, like,  _right the fuck here_.”

“I know,” Otogi shoots back smugly, and Jounouchi sticks his tongue out.

Kaiba won’t admit it to them, but he’s missed this. The way they all fit together this way, bickering yet intimate, playing off of one another as though it’s routine, as though they were built to do this all along. It’s a dynamic he can’t stand to be away from, irritating and loud and incredible, making him feel needed in the most inexplicable way. He has to be here for them. No one else could be.

He finally allows himself to smiles faintly at the thought, and judging by the surprised and unbearably pleased look on Jounouchi’s face, he catches it before Kaiba can hide it.

“I will choose to ignore the questionable logic behind preparing a dinner at this time of night in favor of appreciating the thought,” Kaiba says, tilting his head further to the side to seek Otogi. Otogi leans up and kisses him as though prompted by it, and it’s brief but tender, brief but good. Jounouchi’s grip on him tightens, his eyes on them, and Kaiba makes an almost inaudible sound of contentment before pulling away. “Thank you.”

“Looks like someone’s in a gracious mood,” Otogi teases, pressing an additional kiss to Kaiba’s cheek before finally releasing him and pulling away. “Come on, Jounouchi. Let’s get things ready while he gets settled in.”

Jounouchi wrinkles his nose at Otogi. “Yeah, I’m comin’, _mom_ ,” he says with heavy sarcasm, but before he disentangles himself from Kaiba’s arms he wiggles up to kiss Kaiba’s opposite cheek and murmur something to him: “Welcome home, Kaiba.”

As Jounouchi follows Otogi into the kitchen and they leave him to gather his things and climb the stairs, Kaiba can hear the barest strains of their smart remarks and the accompanying laughter. They seem to fill the entire building, echoing up to the high ceilings, and Kaiba thinks over Jounouchi’s last words: Welcome home. _Home_. He dwells on that as he opens the door to his bedroom and flicks on the light, catching sight of innocuous belongings that aren’t his. One of Jounouchi’s shirts is still on his floor, a handful of dice from a failed Dungeon Dice Monsters game with Otogi scattered across the top of his dresser.

Home. He hadn’t though the manor was deserving of such a name, but perhaps it is with them. Perhaps a home isn’t defined by the place or the history. Perhaps it’s defined by the present, the people, the words, the touches, the creation of fond memories that come to replace the terrible ones like fresh new wallpaper over something old and peeling.

Perhaps the manor has a heart after all.

Perhaps it’s theirs.


End file.
